


rainy rooftops and sugar

by Forestgreengirl



Series: sugar 'verse [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angry Dick Grayson, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon is my sandpit and I am the aggressive toddler, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson & Wally West Are Best Friends, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Has PTSD, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson was Renegade, Dick Grayson-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unreliable Narrator, kinda at least - Freeform, no beta we die like jason todd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestgreengirl/pseuds/Forestgreengirl
Summary: There’s a line that every hero feels, a line that can’t be crossed, in case that’s the thing that sends them over the edge.Dick Grayson has had his line obliterated, he’s been a hero longer than he was a child; the longer he wears that mask, the less he knows who he is without it.Or(Dick Grayson has had enough, after everything with Catalina and Blockbuster; he finds himself hurtling closer and closer towards the edge. Until Wally suggests opening a cafe.)
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Catalina Flores/Dick Grayson (past), Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper & Donna Troy & Wally West, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: sugar 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026736
Comments: 26
Kudos: 284





	1. one

After that rainy, bloody night on the rooftop of his apartment building, when Catalina took, and took, and  _ took;  _ Dick honestly wondered if that was the thing that had ruined him, had broken him down past his roots. Because he’s been tortured a hundred different ways, has had his face smashed in my Two-Face, and watched his parents die when he was still just a child; and none of that has made him doubt his very being. 

_ -And Catalina grins down at him, something manic and sadistic in her gaze as Dick blearily stares at her, memories of watching Blockbusters brains be blown out in front of him on loop in his mind, even as Catalina drags her hands down, ignoring his pleas of n- _

Dick wakes with a gasp, the taste of ash and rain heavy on his tongue, choking him before he’s even properly awake; sweat drenching his shirt and his hair. He exhales softly, slumping back down into the pillows below him, eyes flickering to the glowing clock beside him;

_ 4:03am _

He’s only been asleep a couple of hours before the nightmares set in, jolting him awake; and if the shaking of his hands is anything to go by, it doesn’t look like he’ll be falling back asleep anytime soon. 

He resolves himself to just go drink a god-awful amount of coffee instead, hoping that that would clear the grogginess in his head away. Tim somehow lived on the stuff, so it might be working in some way.

The sweaty feeling becomes unbearable after only a few sips; and he had things he actually wanted to do today, so showering was apparently the way he was going.

It’s almost funny, when he was a kid, he used to love being under water, used to love the heat and the coolness of different temperatures, the way the bathroom used to steam, it was almost peaceful. And now he stands under the shower-head, and has to resist throwing up on his bathroom floor. Because the water feels like rain on a dark rooftop. He stands on the cold tiled floor and for a split moment, he’s lying on his back on the concrete roof, hands trying to grasp the cracked rooftop. 

He can almost hear Catalina’s echoing laugh, she;s in jail, and he still can’t escape her. 

He really should be over that Catalina bullshit, he deserved what had happened, no matter how much he hated it and no matter how much he could scrub his skin red and raw, and still not feel clean from her touch, like something rotten was wasting away under his veins. 

His eyes trail over to the discarded Nightwing costume in the corner of his bathroom, he really did need to put that back in the secret room, he didn’t want people finding that. Except he also doesn’t want to touch it, he can still picture that same uniform covered in blood, and hatred, and rain-water.

He had begun to enjoy putting on the costume less and less as time went on, which wasn’t time “supposed to heal all wounds”? Why was it all just making things  _ worse? _

Still, no matter how much he would love to set the costume on fire and watch it burn to  _ ashes,  _ to burn away the scent of bloodied water, and gunpowder; he has a responsibility to the people of Bludhaven, he needs to keep being a hero.

_ (He doesn’t want to face the idea of not knowing who he is without the mask.)  _

  
  


_________

  
  
  


It’s almost eerie standing outside of Wayne Manor, feeling like a stranger in the same place he grew up. It almost makes him want to turn around and go back to his apartment, he could only avoid them for so long without making them suspicious, and he had pushed it far enough. 

He takes a breath, inhaling the scent of early-morning dew, and the normal smokey feeling of the Gotham air; something he hadn’t missed, even if it was almost exactly the same in Bludhaven. Before he knocks, waiting only a moment or two before Alfred is pulling open the door, looking exactly the same as Dick remembered. 

“Master Richard, it is good to see you.” Alfred says warmly, and Dick feels himself relax, like everything was just falling away.    
  
He may not vocalise it often, because he hated that sort of vulnerability, but Alfred is still one of his favourite people, he owed him just as much, if not more than he did Bruce; especially considering Afred felt almost like a grandfather to Dick. 

“It’s good to see you Alfred. Sorry I’ve been so distan-”    
  
“Don’t fear, I understand completely.” Alred cuts him off, a knowing glint in his eye, and Dick feels a sudden moment of ‘ _ he knows’,  _ something that he was very familiar feeling around Alfred when growing up, especially when he  _ did  _ have something to hide.

He follows after Alfred in the direction of the kitchen, taking in the stillness of the house; evidently Dick and Alfred were the only two awake, except for maybe Tim who was probably still researching cases. 

Dick doesn’t know if he’s more relieved at not having to face the rest of his family right now, or stressed that it would be  _ coming at some point.  _   
  
It’s not that he doesn’t want to see them, because he does, he misses them like hell when they’re gone, but the thought of facing them, on the off-chance that they  _ know,  _ that they know that Dick’s the reason Blockbuster is that, that he indirectly  _ murdered  _ somebody, and that might as well be as bad as pulling the trigger. 

He slides onto a bar-stool by the kitchen counter, content to just watch Alfred work. It was something he enjoyed doing right from when he was a kid, and he used to watch Alfred bake after-school, and on weekends, and Alfred used to instruct him on how to prepare different things he made, even letting Dick try it sometimes on weekends. 

  
It became an almost comfort for Dick; baking, something that Wally frequently laughed about and called “stress baking” as he shoved whatever baked good that Dick had made that day into his mouth. 

Dick was not ashamed to say that Wally was his guinea pig when it came to baking; they were both aware of this fact, and as much as Wally bitched about it, Dick knew for a fact that he didn’t really mind.

It’s not long, just after Dick has immersed himself in the quiet movement of Alfred throughout the kitchen, the familiar sounds allowing Dick a moment to forget about everything thats happened; that Damien wanders into the kitchen, hair neat, and looking perfectly-awake; which should honestly be a crime considering the time, and the fact that it’s a weekend. 

“Goodmorning Master Damien.” Alfred greets, and Damien nods in his direction with a quiet greeting,

“Hello Pennyworth. Grayson; you’re here.” To anybody else those words might sound cold, and uncaring, but Dick had known Damien long enough to understand the difference between cold-cold, and neutral. 

“Hey, Dami. How’s things been?” Damien sighs at the nickname, and Dick barely stifles his laughter at the action; it’s such a  _ Bruce  _ move that it’s almost shocking to see on the much younger boy. 

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that irritating nickname. And things have been fine; you’d know if you’d been in Gotham at all recently.” And wow,  _ ouch.  _

Dick had forgotten how ruthless Damien could be when he wanted to be, and he wasn’t one to sugarcoat things; something that Dick usually liked, but right now made him want to grind his teeth. It’s not like he’s been  _ avoiding  _ Gotham, because he hasn’t; he just hasn’t had a need to be in the City, he had his own city to take care of thankyou. And if a tiny part of that was because he didn’t want to see Bruce, well, that was irrelevant. 

“I’ve been busy, Dami, been keeping my own city under control.”    
  
Damien hums in response, sliding into the seat next to Dick, the only outward sign that he wasn’t too upset at Dick. 

It’s only mere moments after that, that Tim stumbles into the room, eye-bags heavy, and already heading in the direction of the coffee that Alfred had made not long ago, inhaling it at an alarming frequency.    
  
Dick could honestly relate, he’s been feeling quite a lot of  _ that  _ feeling recently.    
  
“Morning Master Timothy. Have you been to sleep at all?”    
  
“Yes, I have in fact.”    
  
“Uh-huh.” Alfred responds dryly in Tim’s direction, as the teen avoids his eyes carefully; and for all that Tim lies about his identity everyday, and is a literal secret vigilante; he’s always been a terrible liar.

“Hi Dick.” Tim greets him, turning in Dick’s amused direction. 

  
“Hey, Timmy,” Dick says, raising his mug in Tim’s direction in turn, “you should go to sleep.”    
  
“Maybe.” Tim is all Tim says, dropping down into the seat next to Dick quietly, drinking more coffee. He doesn’t say anything to Damien, who doesn’t offer any sort of greeting up; Dick isn’t surprised, those two got along even less than any of the others, Dick still doesn’t know how it spawned but Damien seemed to  _ hate  _ Tim, who hated him just as much in-turn.    
  
It’s moments like this that Dick misses from living in the manor, the quiet mornings before everyone's tempers kick in, and it becomes an all-out war again. 

Dick loses himself in the quiet peacefulness between his two youngest brothers, and Alfred. His mind wandering back to other thoughts.    
  
He’s had so many memories in this house, his first time skateboarding, his first time trying pink lemonade, his first time getting stabbed, the first time he ever played monopoly. That wasn’t to say it didn’t hold just as many horrible memories as it did good; because it did. There was a reason that Dick moved out originally, and it wasn’t just because he became Nightwing. 

Dick hears Bruce come downstairs before he sees him. He could recognise the heavy, yet quiet footsteps, and the way the air seems to change when Bruce walks into the room.    
  


He turns out, facing Bruce’s almost surprised face; he obviously didn’t expect to see Dick here. 

  
Dick notices the new bruises and scrapes on his face, and the subtle limp, and for a moment he feels like he’s 9 years old again, wanting desperately to be just like Bruce, to be a hero like him, he was still naive enough to think that heroes were invincible. 

He looks at Bruce now, shadows creeping in his eyes, and a body that feels more broken than whole, and he’s not so sure he wants to be like Batman. 

“Dick. Nice to see you here.”    
  
“Figured I should come show my face soon enough.”    
  
“At least you’re not pulling a Jason.” Tim mutters, oblivious to the looks that everyone in the room shoots him.    
  


“I feel like Jason had a reason to be like that.” Dick mutters back, because despite that he doesn’t agree with what Jason did, or what happened afterwards; it wasn’t completely non-understandable why he did the things he did. 

Dick leans back slightly, once again getting lost in his thoughts, listening to the conversations around him with half-focus. 

He knew he needed to talk to Bruce about everything, or at least part of what was going on. He needed to have his head fully in the game, or he was a liability.    
  
But not today. Dick swallows the words in his throat, curling his mouth into a convincing grin, and does what he does best.    
  
He performs. 

  
  


___________   
  
  
_ Dick goes home that night, he dreams of gunshots and pouring rain. He dreams of Deathstroke's cocky laughter, and the Jokers echoing laughter as he asks “His name was Jason, right?”. He dreams of slamming his fists until the Joker was bloody.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ He dreams of ash in his lungs, and blood soaking his uniform, splattering his hair, seeping into his very soul. He dreams of hands that take with no remorse, and manipulative, disarming smiles.  _ _   
_ _   
  
_

_ ____________ _ _   
  
_

It’s late at night when Wally swings into the apartment, letting himself in with the key Dick gave him, bright-eyed and already talking, as Dick is lying on his couch. 

He sits down next to Dick, swiping a still-warm cookie off of the bench. He places Dick’s legs back over his own, making up for the silence of the apartment with his humour, and warm-eyes, and Dick couldn’t ask for a better best friend, honestly.    
  
Wally has seen so much shit, and still sticks by him on a regular basis. 

That warm feeling lasts until Wally actually opens his mouth,

“So, Dickie...how are things.” Dick loves Wally, but the speedster has  _ zero  _ tact. 

“Things are good as they can be. How are things for you? Has any cool shit gone down recently?”    
  
“Things are sadly calm, all normal instances of fighting crime. I’m good, been trying out different types of coffee. Forcing Artemis to test them all at home.” 

Dick had almost forgotten about Wally’s spontaneous desire to learn how to make different types of coffees and drinks; not that he’s complaining, it usually gets him free coffee and he wasn’t one to turn that sort of offer down. And well, it’s fitting considering what he forces Wally to eat some days. 

“Sounds like fun.”    
  
“Mhm. I noticed you’ve been baking more, things going okay? How’s it being Nightwing?” Dick hates that Wally is so easily able to read him, but it’s been that way since they were kids so he’s pretty much used to it by now. 

Dick also absolutely regrets having gotten more than a little bit drunk with Wally the other night, spilling half-truths and regrets before he can think better of it. It’s not the whole truth, because Dick can barely bring himself to admit that to himself, let alone anybody else, but it’s enough that Wally has taken to checking in when he can, forcing Dick to  _ not  _ bottle things up like he tends to do. 

“Just had some inspiration lately. And being Nightwing is fine, I had just forgotten how much it bled over into my day-life most of the time. I’m adjusting.” Adjusting from his nervous breakdown when he couldn’t even touch his Nightwing uniform without throwing up, without feeling concrete to his back, and the phantom feeling of hands digging into his skin.    
  
But he can’t tell Wally that, because then he would want to know  _ why  _ that happened, and Dick really doesn’t want to get into that; so he’s sticking with the story of having gotten injured and taken a few days off. 

Wally hums thoughtfully, side-eyeing Dick as he thinks, and it automatically makes Dick nervous. 

“You know, I had a thought the other day. Have you ever considered doing something  _ outside  _ of Nightwing?” 

“I literally had a job as a police officer a few weeks ago.” Before the whole Catalina incident, when he decided he couldn’t work there after what happened to Blockbuster. 

“I mean something that  _ doesn’t  _ involve saving people.” 

Dick is suddenly  _ very  _ wary of where exactly this conversation is going. 

“...Like?”    
  
“Like… working at a cafe, or store somewhere! Gymnastics classes! Something you enjoy that does  _ not  _ involve punching people in the face.” 

“Name one store in Gotham or Bludhaven that doesn’t have some sort of underground drug business, or shady shit going on. Any ones that are not involved, tend to close down quickly.” Dick takes a moment to mourn the really good ice cream place that used to be in Gotham, before the Joker got to the owners, and the store then went bankrupt. 

  
He misses their cotton candy ice cream like crazy. 

“Then start your own.” Wally states, biting into another one of Dick’s cookies, and  _ huh,  _ that’s not actually the worst idea Wally has had before. 

“How would I even do that, dude. I’m not exactly shop owner material.” 

“Maybe not on your own, but you have money from Bruce, and you’re wickedly good at baking. And hey! We could open it together, you bake and I make drinks?”

It’s tempting, Dick is pretty sure that they actually considered running a business together when they were kids. Before everything got real, and  _ dangerous,  _ and they both accepted that they would probably die as Robin and Kid Flash, before they could act those dreams out. 

He had honestly forgotten those plans, having pushed them to the back of his mind. But, him and Wally could probably run a kickass cafe. 

“I don’t know. We would need a proper building, that  _ isn’t  _ at risk of falling apart, and we’d need menus, and plans, and  _ staff  _ for when we can’t be there, and-” Dick starts, already putting things together in his head at the thought of this. It could be a cool idea, a good out from hero life; because as much as he loves it, Dick isn’t oblivious enough to not understand that the longer he wears that mask, the less he feels whole. 

“We can absolutely figure this out. We have time to find places, and make sure everything is in order. What do you say?” And Wally sounds so  _ excited  _ that Dick can’t find it in him to say no.    
  
“I’m saying, we had better start looking at buildings.” 

  
  
  



	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick continues to have a bad time, him and Wally come up with a cafe name, and finally find a place, Dick also talks to Damian and Cass about the cafe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this after having taken strong-painkillers and running on like,,, 4 hours sleep so please simply ignore any mistakes LMAO

Dick finds himself mostly absorbed into planning for this cafe, sorting out names, and colour schemes, and  _ plans _ , and going to look at buildings with Wally for the next couple of weeks.   
  
He remembers a few days into it that Wally lives in a completely separate city, and that itself brings up issues; but Wally brushes it off, laughing that he’s got superspeed so it’s easy enough for him to get to Gotham quickly. 

It’s a good distraction away from the way Dick’s life seems to be falling apart around him. 

Dick would much rather think about what types of cookies he’s going to sell (chocolate-chip, m&m, and peanut butter, he settled on, 4 hours later), than about how he smelt Catalina’s perfume, and barely stopped himself from throwing up. 

He dreams of her that night, of her voice, of her laughter, of the sickly-sweet tone of voice from that night on the rooftop. He wakes up with the taste of rainwater in his mouth. He glances at the clock next to him, it’s 5am at least, he’s gotten four hours of sleep; it’s an improvement. 

There’s sweat drenching his clothes, already cooling in the air, leaving Dick stiff and uncomfortable as he slips himself into the bathroom.

He turns the water to boiling as he strips off, trying his best not to let his mind wander onto the subjects of his dreams, instead thinking of different frosting flavours he could try out. 

The water turns his skin red within a few seconds of being in it, it doesn’t hurt beyond dull-stinging,    
  
He used to enjoy cool showers as a kid, back when he was still so ready to take on the world-

_ (-He can’t help but mourn back when he was a kid, when he still had blind trust in Batman's abilities, in heroes abilities. He mourns a time before he grew used to the sounds of gunshots and screaming, and how it feels to have his bones crushed-) _ _   
  
_

-they used to remind him of the rain, standing in the cool water was one of his only breaks from the overwhelming days of being a child-hero, and a billionaire's ward. It’s a cruel irony that that piece would be torn away from him.    
  
He should have known; he’s not built for things to last.

_ (-He does try standing in cool-water, a few days before, he wanted to know whether it would still affect him. He stood under the water, head-tilted at the roof for less than a minute, before pulling himself out of the stream, his chest tight. He learns to avoid cold-water after that-)  _ _   
_ _   
_ -and squeezes his eyes shut under the streaming water, and tries to stop hearing her cooing voice in his ears, to stop feeling her hands on his skin. 

  
  


__________   
  
  
  
  


Dick and Wally come up with the name of their cafe, despite that they haven’t even found a building for it yet, at 2am in the morning, both of them more than a little bit tipsy, and running on less than 6 hours of sleep each. 

They’re both lying upside on Dick’s grey-couch, a habit they’ve been doing since they were kids, whenever they needed to think about something, they’d lay upside down and bounce ideas off each other until they reached a solid solution. 

Surprisingly enough, it’s helped them out with important things on more than one occasion. 

Dick suggests ‘Sugar Zone’ as a joke, it comes out of his mouth sooner than he registers, and he’s barely aware of what he’s said until Wally is sitting up straight, eyes clearer than they were a moment ago, and agreeing with Dick’s suggestion with a weirdly serious voice.    
  
Looking back on it in the morning, once he’s not under the influence, and has a bit more rational thought; it sounds quite ridiculous; neither of them should have been deciding names in that condition. 

But it sticks; Sugar Zone Cafe. It makes Dick even more excited to get this done, to be able to see it in front of him.

He still hasn’t told the rest of the Bats about it, it’s not that he’s trying to keep it a secret from them, because he’s not; but he won’t deny that having something that’s purely  _ his,  _ having something separate from the rest of his family feels  _ good.  _

It’s been a while since he’s had something that wasn’t connected to the rest of his family in some way and by the knowing look Wally gives him when Dick half-heartedly tries to explain that, he gets it.    
  
Because this wasn’t Kid Flash and Nightwing doing something for their hero-selves, or for their fellow heroes; this was Wally West and Dick Grayson doing something just because  _ they  _ wanted to. And well, when you’ve spent most of your childhood and teenage years following somebody's example, and living by somebody else's rules; it’s a damn good feeling. 

They visit four more empty buildings, most of them either requiring  _ too much  _ maintenance, or being too close to shady shit, before they find one that they could work with. It’s got a shitty paint job, and some of the windows have cracks in them, not to mention the stale smell, but it was something they could work with. 

Dick takes great satisfaction in purchasing the place using the money he’s saved from being a cop, it’s a rush of adrenaline as he confirms everything, knowing that this place was  _ his,  _ his and Wally’s. 

Wally and Dick go back to Dick’s new-

_ (-new, new because Blockbuster blew up most of Bludhaven, and people are still rebuilding, new because Catalina broke him on the roof of his old apartment, and looking at the place made him sick-) _ _   
_ _   
_ -apartment and celebrate in the form of cheap alcohol, and trialing out food and drink combinations, using each other as guinea pigs. 

They spend the night drinking the leftover lattes and eating leftover cookies. It’s the most Dick’s laughed since Catalina. 

  
  


___________

  
  


He does end up telling somebody a few days afterwards, he’s out at lunch with Damian and Cass, having dragged Damian out for some normal-fun, and Cass just wanting to join, the others were invited, but Tim and Jason were vocal in how much they resent Dick now. 

It’s a bitter feeling when he looks at Jason and Tim, and he mourns the relationship they could have had. Had he of been a better brother towards them, had Jason not died, had Dick not replaced Tim as Robin-

_ -He can’t find it in him to regret choosing Damian as his Robin. Even as Tim never forgives him for giving another child the mantle of Robin, nevermind that out of all of them, Dick is the only person with any right to pass on the title, or to feel replaced-  _

Back to the point, he’s out with Damian and Cass down at this small, slightly run-down ice cream place tucked away in a corner of Gotham, when it slips out quicker than he can stop it. 

“Wally and I are opening a cafe.” He blurts out around a mouthful of cookies & cream ice cream. He doesn’t know why it feels like such a huge thing to admit, but for some reason it was. 

Damian and Cass blink for a moment, before Cass nods softly,

“Nice idea. Name?” She asks, and Dick feels a burst of pride at how far she’s come with talking since she came to live with them, 

“Sugar Zone. I came up with it a few weeks ago.” 

Damian is silent for a moment, and Dick feels a growing sense of lead fill his stomach.    
  
“You said a few weeks...why did you not tell us sooner?” Damian spits, trying to sound angry, but Dick knows the kid well enough to detect the thinly-veiled hurt. Damian has also come a long way since he had come to live with them, since he became Robin; but he still didn’t know how to handle not knowing everything. 

Dick was more than a bit worried that Damian would resent him for keeping it a “secret.” 

Cass nods at Damian's remark, turning to stare back at Dick as she bites into her bubblegum ice-cream. 

The fact that Cass has taken to  _ biting _ into solid ice-cream, is the real Gotham horror. 

“We wanted to make sure we had everything under-control. Didn’t want to let anybody know until we were sure it was really happening. You two are the first to know about this outside of Wally.” 

Cass shoots him a smile, communicating her approval without vocalising it. Damian sits in silence for a moment, before nodding sharply,   
  
“That is fair Grayson. You must keep me updated next time.” Dick can read between the lines and understand the ‘please keep me in the loop’. 

He barely hesitates before offering, “Next time I drag you guys out of the Manor, I should show you how to bake something.”    
  
Cass and Damian both  _ freeze.  _ Something  _ excited,  _ and wide-eyed blooming on their face. They’re both well-aware that Dick doesn’t offer that sort of thing lightly; it was well-known within the ‘batfamily’ that Dick kept his baking skills close to his chest.

_ (He’s only even properly taught two people. By the time he went to offer to teach Jason, he’d been dead for a month. _

_ He didn’t offer it to anyone after that.)  _

“That...would be adequate, Grayson.” Dick laughs at that response, it’s the closest to an agreement from Damian that Dick is going to get. 

“Sounds nice.” Cass simply says, before going quiet and enjoying her ice-cream. 

Dick inhales, exhaling relief as he finishes the rest of his ice-cream cone.

All things considered, it went better than he expected. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed !! Can you tell I’m pushing my Dick & Damian & Cass friendship agenda LMAO.
> 
> Also!!! I’m choosing to ignore a good chunk of canon so just to clear things up (I’m still new to the DC fandom lmao so timelines are fucky) but Dick has been Batman, Bludhaven wasn’t completely blown up, instead 3/4 of it was blown up and they are just rebuilding.   
> Like the tags say, canon is my sandpit and I am the angry toddler
> 
> (Also I started writing before making a timeline and am just Talking my way Out of plot holes LMAO)


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick, Damian and Wally spend some time together, Dick encounters a trigger, and Bruce is trying his hardest but kinda makes it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for attempted sexual assault (to a background character but just to be safe-) !!!! 
> 
> Starts at “all things considered, things were going well.” And finishes at “He walks forward-“

Deciding colour schemes is so much harder than Dick ever expected it to be. It always looked so much easier on tv shows.    
  
Not that Dick would ever confess to watching those sorts of shows. 

Surprisingly enough, Wally had much stronger feelings about colour schemes than Dick himself did. 

_ “This shouldn’t surprise you, Dick. Your Robin costume looked like a traffic light.”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “My Robin suit was iconic, thank you.”  _

In the end, it takes them four hours to come up with a coherent colour scheme that  _ didn’t  _ make Dick want to brain himself on a nearby wall.    
  
Blue, yellow and grey; an ironic colour scheme considering the main colours of their hero costume. It was a little bit funny when Wally pointed that particular bit of information. 

They still haven’t fixed all of the windows, and they’re part way through putting new coats of white paint on the walls; Dick had abducted Damian for the night to help him paint, and then to watch movies with him at his apartment. 

Damian was still a prickly little brat, but he had come a long way since he first arrived with them; Dick felt fondness well inside him at the sight of Damian looking so focused as he painted. 

“You know, we should have painted the walls rainbow.” Dick speaks up wryly, partly in truth and partly just to see the horrified looks he gets from Damian and Wally. 

“We absolutely should  _ not  _ have.” 

“Wally! You literally wanted to paint stripes onto the walls!”    
  


Damian somehow manages to look even more horrified, a look that makes Dick wheeze slightly, clutching onto one part of the unpainted wall for support. 

“Grayson. West. You are both utter disgraces towards interior design.”    
  
“Well,” Dick starts, moving to ruffle Damian's hair, careful to avoid getting paint in it, “good thing we have you with us then, isn’t it?”    
  
“Indeed it is.” Damian tries to appear indifferent to the conversation, but Dick can see the faint red tint creeping up his ears.

It’s times like this, when he has one of his best friends, and one of his baby brothers with him, having  _ fun;  _ that he can almost forget everything else. He can almost forget that he’s poison, that his hands are red from blood not his own. He can almost forget how fucked up his family is, how much they seem to just tear each other apart. 

He only wishes that feeling could last. 

  
  
  


_______   
  


**  
** **  
** The tentative, uneasy alliance that him and Bruce had made a couple of weeks ago was very rapidly coming to an end, especially considering him and Bruce get back from patrol, and stand at opposite ends of the cave, and scream at each other until Dick wants to slam his head into the brick-wall just to get away from the conversation. 

It starts as it always does, with simmering tempers, with quiet, passive-aggressive jabs, and with Bruce being so  _ goddamn critical. _ It starts in the beginnings of patrol, when they’ve just suited up, and Batman can’t stop giving everyone  _ orders.  _

  
It makes something in Dick itch uncomfortably, he’s never liked being told what to do, least of all by Bruce. It’s one of the things that drove them apart during his teenage years. 

Patrol is fine, Dick gets assigned Damian to patrol with (more like Damian demanded, and Dick certainly wasn’t going to refuse) and it’s almost  _ fun.  _ A familiar familiarity falling between them. It’s a type of familiar that comes from fighting  _ closely  _ for long periods of time.    
  
Dick can count on one-hand how many people he feels that near. 

Once upon a time, Bruce would have been on that list; they were partners for a reason. 

_ (Dick didn’t want to ever have to admit how much it stung to not know Batman that way anymore. There’s a line that Dick can’t cross now, a barrier keeping him separate from his once-mentor.)  _

All things considered, things are going  _ well.  _

And then he hears it, the faint yell of something yelling for  _ help,  _ and to  _ stop  _ and Dick barely hesitates before he’s off running in that direction, Robin calling out for him from behind him. 

He stops at the entrance to a darkened-alleyway, where a sleazy, stumbling  _ drunk  _ has a woman pinned to a wall, mouthing at her neck as she tries to struggle away; and for a moment, everything around Dick becomes static, he can hear it, he can taste it in his mouth. 

For a moment, he can feel the rain on him, he can feel the press of her lips; it makes him want to be sick. 

He walks forward, almost as though he was in a trance, and maybe he was; because he felt so goddamn  _ disconnected,  _ like he was drifting through fog. 

He barely remembers pulling the guy off of the girl, barely remembers her running out of the alleyway, pausing briefly as Robin checks to make sure she's okay; because all Dick can focus on is the man, the  _ rapist,  _ underneath him, and the satisfying feeling of hearing his nose snap underneath Dick’s fist. 

He stares at the almost-unconscious man underneath him, barely smelling the coppery-scent of blood, or the way its coating his hands. For a split second, when Dick looks down, he’s looking at Blockbuster, and he’s looking at Catalina, and he’s looking at every single person that’s ever looked at him like he’s a  _ toy.  _

He’s faintly aware of Damian dragging him away, and it’s telling enough that this has affected him enough that a 12 year old boy is able to drag him away. 

“Nightwing! What was that?” Damian demands, his voice icy with an undercurrent of barely-hidden concern. Dick chooses that to focus on, something to pull him back from that night on the rooftop. 

He takes in a heaving breath, turning to look at the man on the dirty-ground beneath him. 

  
The man looks like  _ shit  _ to be honest, his face is an array of already-colouring bruises, and blood all across it. His nose and jaw is definitely breathing, not to mention he probably has a cracked rib. 

The man is breathing at least, the rise and fall of his chest is shallow, but its certainly happening. Dick knows he should feel some semblance of guilt; he’d nearly murdered someone, nearly broken Batmans #1 rule.

But he can’t. No matter how hard he tries, all he can feel is cold-numbness, and the barest traces of red-hot rage. 

“It’s fine Robin. Don’t worry. We need to call an ambulance for this guy.” Dick manages to croak out, already fumbling with his phone to ring 911. He’s aware of Damian giving him a look of disbelief, and Dick already  _ knows  _ that Batman is aware of what has just happened. Oracle likely has seen what’s happened and informed him. 

Dick rings an ambulance, walking away and heading back to the batcave before it can arrive. 

He’s not sure he can fake guilt at the moment. 

  
  
  


_______________   
  


  
  
  


They’ve only been back at the cave for ten minutes at most, they’ve barely even started getting changed out of their costumes, and patching up injuries, and everyone is still pumped full of adrenaline, and heightened emotions, though it was already fading judging by Tim’s half-changed, slumped form on one of the chairs. 

Of course, Bruce would choose that exact moment to start talking. 

_ (Later that night, Dick will blame the yelling, the venomous words on the heightened, leftover feelings) _

_ -he knows deep inside of him, that everything he said, he meant, in one twisted way or another. Blockbuster was right; Dick is just poison, no matter how pretty- _

Because one moment they’re all talking quietly, Bruce talking in mostly grunts, and then Bruce opens his mouth, cowl still on, and he sets Dick off  _ immediately.  _

“Dick. You want to explain to me about what the  _ fuck  _ happened tonight?” The cave stills, all of them immediately looking between Bruce and Dick; Jason especially, because he was the only brother around when things were especially bad, he remembers those arguments with startling clarity. 

He feels the familiar risings of heat in his face, he’s never liked being exposed like this, he’s never liked having his weaknesses put in front of everyone; none of them do, it’s part of the reason they’re so nuclear when they spend extended time together.    
  
He especially doesn’t appreciate Bruce acting like he was superior to Dick. 

Dick and Bruce had explosive tempers that rivaled each other, despite what everybody around them thought; it was just another uncomfortable reminder that Bruce and Dick were too similar in all the wrong ways. 

Deathstroke at least, had taken great delight in informing Dick that he was perhaps one of the cruelest members of his family when he wanted to be. A bit of information that made Dick take great satisfaction in breaking the guy's arm, and giving him a concussion; even if he does have a healing factor on his side. 

“Not particularly.” 

“Well tough. What happened _?  _ You were out of control tonight.”    
  
Dick inhales sharply, and Dick watches out the corner of his eye as each of his siblings individually shoot a glance at the door to get out, or in Jason’s case; a wistful look towards his motorbike. 

None of the others except for Jason, had really seen Dick and Bruce fight, the two of them preferring to keep things quiet-

_ (His siblings call him Batman's soldier, and joke about him being the golden boy, and it takes everything in Dick not to remind him that he’s been here since the beginning, that he’s in no way the golden boy.)  _ _  
  
_

_ - _ and they had done a decent job at fixing their relationship enough that being in the same room didn't make them lose it at each other. 

  
Apparently that progress was all for nothing. 

“I was perfectly in control of myself tonight, thanks  _ Batman.”  _ Dick almost snarls, his voice taking a low-undertone that Bruce’s soon mimics.

“Are you sure about that?” 

“ _ Yes.” _

“I don’t think you were. We don’t  _ hurt  _ people like that. You nearly  _ killed  _ him.”

“I’m aware.”

“Dick, honestly I’m disappointed, I expected more than this sort of behaviour from you.” Bruce speaks, glaring down at Dick. 

Dick inhales again, trying to calm himself down. Usually it took more than this to cause him to lose his temper, but the situation tonight had left his emotions more than a little bit shortened.

“Okay.” He’s aware of how petty his answers are, and that they’re making Bruce’s blood-pressure rise too, but he also can’t bring himself to care. 

“ _ Dick!  _ What aren’t you understanding? You broke the code, that man nearly  _ died. !”  _

And suddenly it’s like the floodgates open. 

“I wish I did kill him! That what you want to know about Bruce? That I’m not fucking sorry for what I did to that guy? Because I’m  _ not.  _ He’s nearly dead, and I feel  _ nothing.”  _ Dick spits out, as everything rushes to the front of him, and suddenly he doesn’t know whether he wants to punch Bruce, or leave immediately. 

Bruce stares at him, and goes to open his mouth, and Dick can’t deal with this anymore. He doesn’t like yelling at his family, doesn’t like yelling at anyone; but if he stays, he is going to say some things he never wanted to leave his brain. 

Dick wonders if this is how Jason feels all the time. 

“Dick. Just tell me what happened?” Dick  _ knows  _ that the tone Bruce is using is the closest to understanding he can get right now, but it doesn’t lessen the thick rage coiling in his stomach.    
  
He knows this is an overreaction, a small part of him is aware of that; it’s just that a larger part of him doesn’t really give a fuck right now. 

  
“You are  _ not _ my fucking  _ dad,  _ Bruce. I don’t owe you  _ shit.”  _ Dick snaps out, and the anger disappears as quickly as it had come. Dick had hoped he would feel lighter after that, somehow he just feels more weighed down. There's an audible inhale from where his siblings are still standing, even as the smallest hints of hurt flash over Bruce’s face. 

Dick allows himself exactly one moment to regret that his siblings just watched that. They already had such little respect for him as it was; this certainly wouldn’t help him. 

He turns suddenly, sliding himself onto his bike and taking off out of the cave, while his brothers shout for him to come back; but he can’t, he needs to get over there or he was going to lose it. 

  
  


________

Dick doesn’t head home immediately; he doesn’t know where he went after he left the cave, the growing heavy fog in his head had almost blinded him.    
  
Honestly, he isn’t aware of anything after he hightailed it out of there until he’s standing in his living room, fresh blood on his knuckles, and blades of grass sticking uncomfortably to his clothes.    
  
He spares a moment of thanks towards his past self for changing out of his uniform before that all went down. 

Dick takes a breath, and heads to where he stored the last of his advil, popping two for his growing headache. 

He forgoes having a shower, despite knowing how gross he was going to feel later, but he’s self-aware enough to know that being under any form of water right now is the worst thing he could do right now. 

He hauls himself into his kitchen, pulling out the cupcake ingredients as he did. Wally was due to come over sometime tomorrow afternoon for one of their movie nights, and to hopefully organise a bit more of their slowly-coming-together cafe; he might as well have snacks to feed his speedster best friend. 

  
He had been meaning to see what bubblegum icing would taste like. 

And well, it was this or spend the next four hours staring at his peeling ceiling and trying not to choke on the phantom taste of rainwater; he might as well be semi-productive. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am ~well aware~ of the mistakes in this chapter, but I’m also very sleep-deprived and can’t be bothered changing it rn so- 
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoyed!! And please keep in mind w the way things are atm, that Dick is an unreliable narrator, he’s not always seeing things from the correct perspective.  
> Also! I am 100% of the belief that Bruce loves his kids very much, and I think he cares about them more than he can express, but it doesn’t excuse the shitty things he’s indirectly (or directly) caused.  
> (I’m pro-Batman but like,, bro you fucked up)  
> Anyway! Rant over!!
> 
> Tumblr: @forestgreengirl


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has an all out bad time, Deathstroke pops up.

The air is cold, cold and windy enough that Dick can feel the faintest bit of numbness growing in his fingertips. 

He’s faintly aware of Wally arriving next to him, sliding down next to where Dick is sitting on the roof, staring at the darkened-sky above them. 

They don’t say anything at first, for all that Wally talks without thinking, he’s always been the best person to handle Dick’s moods like this.

“What happened, Dick?” Wally asks, finally breaking the silence. 

Dick licks his lips for a moment, opening his mouth to tell Wally that he’s fine; something else comes out instead.

“Do you ever regret it?” 

“Regret what?”

“Becoming heroes, dedicating our entire lives to this.” 

Dick has never truly regretted it, not really, he loves helping people, it’s who he  _ is.  _ But he won’t deny that the thought of living a normal life, away from Gotham, away from the Joker, and Two Face and every other villain that hates him, that was just so  _ appealing. _

Half the time he can’t imagine it. Heroism is just what he  _ does.  _

“I don’t know who I’d be without Kid Flash.” Wally whispers back like he’s sharing something forbidden. 

And in a way he was. A former-Robin, and not a not-so-Kid-Flash, Dick was the first superhero sidekick, with Wally following along after; there was a certain pedestal that the other heroes placed on them, Dick especially, one that left them feeling alienated more often than not.    
  
And it was the sad truth after it all, that neither of them were completely sure who they were without their superhero-persona.

Dick remembers being a kid, wide-eyed and excited and talking about the things he’d do when he was older. It hurts more than a little bit to know that nothing is like how he thought it would be. 

“I hate him.” Dick pipes up suddenly, breaking the blanketed silence that had fallen over them. 

“Bruce.” 

“You don’t.” Wally says back, something unidentifiable in his tone. 

“No I don’t.” Dick whispers, pulling his knees up to his chest. He didn’t hate Bruce, not really, not  _ truly.  _ Some days he woke up and he wondered if it would be easier if he hated Bruce. He’s not sure he ever could. 

His siblings claimed he was the golden boy, Bruce’s favourite; but Dick knows it’s bullshit. He was Bruce’s ward, and he was Batman’s weapon, Batman’s partner; he was never his son, not really. 

Dick feels Wally slide closer, wrapping an arm around Dick’s cold shoulders, and Dick inhales softly, his eyes closing briefly. 

“We’re still alive, we made it to adulthood and sometimes that’s all we can be thankful for.” Wally mutters in his hair, and Dick exhales. 

He’s not so sure he’s been alive for a very long time. 

  
  
  


_____________

  
  
  
  


“Wally, what do you think of this flavour.” Dick questions suddenly over the clinking of glasses, and the low-humming of his oven.

Wally barely has time to turn around before Dick is shoving the spoon of watermelon-flavoured frosting in his face for him to taste.    
  
“Opinions?” 

“I think that might genuinely be the best flavour you’ve made so far?” Wally grins at him, and Dick can’t help the grin he shoots back in return. 

“Better than the bacon-icing?”    
  
“Dude,” Wally starts, a serious expression on his face, “I don’t think  _ anything  _ could be better than the bacon-icing.”    
  
Dick laughs, loud and honest and  _ happy.  _ It’s an odd feeling after the last few emotional days. The two of them weren’t supposed to meet till Friday, when the new glass panes were getting delivered, and some of their main furniture was arriving; but apparently somewhere along the line Wally had developed a sixth sense named Oracle that knew when Dick was feeling like shit, and had decided to come and annoy him into feeling better. 

The worst part was that it was working. 

Wally was trying new flavours of coffee, and practicing new coffee art, while Dick baked too many cupcakes to handle, and tried just as many frosting flavours. 

The grapefruit frosting was not a good idea. 

“Are you planning on adding more deserts than cupcakes?” Wally asks, eyeing the rows of leftover cupcakes all over the table.    
  
“Of course. I have half a menu planned out right now, cupcakes are just a main bit.” 

“Look as long as you include those brownies, I don’t particularly mind.” Wally mutters, looking almost wistful. 

“Oh yeah, what type of brownies?” Dick shoots back, despite knowing the answer to that already; they were triple-choc and caramel brownies that Dick had made after Bruce fired him. Still, it was always fun to reference the time M’gann was convinced to make weed brownies.

It was an experience none of them wanted to remember. Dick is 69% sure that Connor  _ doesn’t  _ actually remember it. 

“You know  _ exactly  _ what type I’m talking about. Those cupcakes were like meeting god.” 

“Wally you’ve met gods before.” Dick laughs, raising his eyebrows at his speedster best friend. 

“ _ Exactly.”  _

  
  
  


________

  
  


_ Dick dreams of the sound of rope snapping, dreams of the sound of bodies hitting the ground, the sight of his parents lying there like that seared into his brain.  _

_  
_ _ He dreams of Bruce’s rage when Jason died, of his disappointment everytime Dick went against his orders, he dreams of Jason’s green-eyed fury, and Tim’s betrayed eyes when he handed over Robin.  _

_ He dreams of arms that pull, and take, and take, and take.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ He dreams of heavy rain and how it felt to feel Blockbusters blood splatter his skin.  _

  
  


_ __________ _

_ \ _

Dick’s been ignoring any phone calls from Bruce, not wanting to deal with the fallout from their last, stupidly public fight; only sending back passive aggressive, short responses; much to his former-mentors' chagrin. 

And if it was that important, Bruce would text. 

  
Dick does feel guilty for blowing up on him like that but Bruce and Dick had a habit of pushing on each other's buttons without even realising. It was half the reason their relationship broke down as Dick got older, both of them clashing in ways they never used to. While they are certainly closer than they were in Dick’s teenage years, there were just some things neither of them could move on from, despite what his siblings seemed to think about how much he’s forgiven Bruce for.    
  
Bruce pushed too hard, too fast, like he always did; and Dick pushed back. 

They’d be fine in the next week or so, and Jason would be back to being the family's black sheep; no matter how much Dick hated that fact. 

He understood Jason a lot more than the anti-hero seemed to think he did. He didn't like the killing, he never would, especially not after Blockbuster; but Dick does remember how it felt to stare at Tony Zucco’s stupid fucking face, and realise how easy it would be to just end him, and he remembers how it felt to stare at the Joker’s taunting, bruised, face. 

Dick understands more than most of his family, that some things just aren’t black and white. 

He’s pretty sure that his relationship with Jason and how it turned out, will always be something that haunts him. 

Dick laughs to himself slightly, he vividly remembers Roy hearing him talk about his family, back when it was still just Bruce, Jason and Dick, and looking him dead in the eyes with a dry smile, and saying;

_ “Fuck, ‘Wing, you fuckers need to go to family therapy or some shit.”  _

Honestly Roy wasn’t wrong, Dick is 90% sure at least a couple of their problems would be solved if they just went to therapy. It’s a shame that none of them are able to trust anyone enough to ever talk about things. 

Dick would just stick to beating criminals up. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“You’re getting sloppy, little bird.” A voice spoke up from behind him, prompting Dick to turn around sharply, narrowly avoiding catching his foot on the wooden-crate. 

“Forgive me if I don’t particularly care, Deathstroke.” Dick hissed back, shifting his weapons in his hands. Deathstroke just clocked his head slightly to the side, posture radiating  _ boredom.  _

“Hm.”    
  
“What do you want.” Dick grit out, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Slade made himself a nuisance at least once a fortnight, much to Dick’s annoyance. 

“Just observing. You were much better when you were my apprentice.” This time, Dick can’t help but sigh. He hears this topic every single time they run into each other, sometimes Dick could find  _ other  _ ways to distract them both from this conversation, and other times he wasn’t so lucky. 

“I’m not doing this right now.”    
  
“My my, so  _ angry,  _ pretty bird.” 

Dick cast a look towards the unconscious criminal behind him, a man found publicly touching his daughter, he was beaten more than Nightwing normally did, but these were extenuating circumstances, Bruce didn’t need to know, and honestly; he couldn’t care less right now. 

_ (Something inside him itches to bring his sticks down onto the man just a little bit harder, to watch the way his chest stills.  _

_ He buries it, it’s wrong, it’s bad, it’s the opposite of everything he stands for.)  _

Dick shakes his head slightly to clear the thoughts, and Deathstroke still has his mask on, but Dick can feel the knowing gaze as easily as if he was seeing it uncovered in front of him. It makes something inside him uncomfortable; it’s always unnerved him how much Slade was able to read him, in ways that even Batman couldn’t. 

It was both as nauseating, as it was almost comforting. 

He didn’t have time to process that right now. Or deal with Slade at this moment, all he currently wanted to do was go home, strip out of his uniform, and pass out on the couch till noon;  _ not  _ be dealing with this.

_ “Why  _ are you here  _ Deathstroke _ .” Dick repeats, esperation easily identifiable in his tone. 

“Had  _ plans  _ to attend to,  _ Nightwing.”  _

“Right. Can you just leave then, really don’t want to deal with this right now.” 

Deathstroke slipped forward slightly, enough to grasp Dick’s chin, tilting his face to stare at him through both their masks. Dick is more than a little bit pissed at the way he can feel himself beginning to flush under the scrutiny. 

“There’s something not right in your head right now, kid. You nearly just got yourself killed.” Deathstroke speaks monotonously, the barest hints of concern bleeding through. 

“Careful there Deathstroke, it almost sounded like you  _ cared.”  _ Dick snaps out, anger filling him all of a sudden. 

Slade pulls back suddenly, and Dick takes a moment to inhale softly, his heart-rate finally going back to normal. Having Slade’s attention solely on him was always exhausting in more than one way. 

“I don’t. I just don’t want you dying a stupid death.” 

_ “ _ Whatever.” Dick sighs, casting a look around the alleyway. He was really beginning to get sick of people deciding things for him, acting like they had the right to control his life. 

By the time he looks back, Deathstroke is gone, the dust still settling from around him. Dick exhaled slowly, it sucks that he considered Slade an almost-friend, and that the man knew how to fuck, because a good portion of time Dick is almost convinced that it would be easier to just arrest the man. 

Dick prays daily that Bruce never finds out about whatever is going on between them, he would honestly never hear the end of it. 

He kicks at the crates around his feet, before turning to look once again, at the bleeding criminal behind him; already dialing the PD to take care of this. 

He doesn’t say anything to him, Dick is pretty sure the guy won’t even remember this entire altercation; he hopes not at least, he doesn’t need any more rumours about ‘Nightwing going dark’. He honestly needed to reign in his temper, he’s been letting it slip too much. 

He pockets his weapon, pulling out his grappling gun as he does, before firing it at the looming building across from him, making sure he’s not there by the time an officer arrives at the scene. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt weirdly forced?? Idk it’s mostly just a filler but yanno. Deathstroke and the stuff about child-soldiers really just crept in huh.
> 
> Also most of this was written either between 12-6am, or when I’ve been sick so it’s,, not the best grammar wise, I’ll go back and fix it through another time ! So please don’t point it out 
> 
> Anyway! Tumblr! (@forestgreengirl) please come send me some prompts, I got mad writers block I need to work through lmao


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is starting to approach, Dick’s mental health takes a nosedive, the cafe opens, and Wally, Donna, Roy and Dick take some time to watch shitty movies and gossip.

The Nightwing costume burns when he puts it on. It makes him uncomfortable, and tense; and he peels it off like he’s peeling off his own flesh.

It’s almost ironic, how his suit went from being a safety blanket, a way to get away from himself as Dick Grayson, and to just  _ fly _ like he used to with his parents; and now it’s just become another thing that’s been torn away from him. 

He wonders if Batman has noticed how he's fraying at the edges. 

Probably not. Bruce has always been an excellent liar, especially to himself.

It’s a trait they’ve all picked up apparently. 

It smells like gunpowder and the metallic-tinged blood. Dick wants to puke every time he glances at the blue-bird on his chest. 

It doesn’t look right, nothing looks right to him anymore. He feels like he’s looking at himself through a funhouse mirror. Like he’s looking at himself cracked, and worn, and split-open raw. 

_ (No matter how hard he scrubs, no matter how long he sits in scalding water, he can feel Mirage’s breath on his neck, and can feel Tarantula’s sly grin.  _

_ Eventually he learns to ignore the ghosts in his head.  _

_ He wakes up more nights than not, feeling like he’s choking on blood, and rainwater, and ash.)  _

Dick doesn’t know if all of them are simply pretending it never happened, or that they genuinely don’t remember the time back when Dick and Bruce could barely see each other without ending the interaction screaming at each other. 

Dick’s only ever seen Bruce cry three times in his life. He hates that he caused one of them. 

Jason may joke that he’s the black sheep of the family, but Dick is the only one among them, except for perhaps Alfred, who never would, who could really hit Bruce where it hurt. 

Jason had his death to fight about, had the Joker to deflect all his rage on. Those two fought as Batman and Red Hood more than anything. 

Dick and Bruce could never use their suits as a shield, their arguments always ended up too personal, too targeted for that. 

Dick’s only relief is that they swept it under the rug by the time Tim showed up, with only a few slip-ups along the way. 

_ (He feels like an imposter in that house, he loves his family, but he’s never felt more alone then he does in that house.)  _

He was the test child, and he’s already accepted it. He suffered in ways that his siblings will never have to.

It’s good. He’s  _ happy  _ about it.

Everytime Bruce counts back the numbers in his head whenever one of the others pisses him off, everytime he reigns in his temper enough to talk to them logically, every time Bruce doesn't immediately leap to  _ kicking them out of Gotham;  _ he feels something resembling resentment build inside him. 

_ (He wishes Bruce could have learnt in other ways, he wishes Bruce never sat him down and told him that if he ever went rogue, that Dick was to put him down. He wishes that he could remember how to trust someone, he wishes he could remember a time before bones breaking became commonplace.)  _

So Dick kept his mouth shut, he swallowed every word, every thought that could shatter the carefully-built images that his family has of him. 

Damian needed stability, the others, though they might deny it, also needed that sense of stability.

Dick refuses to be the reason that crumbles like a house-of-cards. 

Dick has always been a performer, it’s in his blood, he was born a performer, and he’ll die as a performer. But now-days, he doesn’t know what’s pretend anymore. He doesn’t know what’s a mask anymore. 

Dick swirls his cup around in his hand, swirling the black coffee around. He doesn’t know why he’s even drinking it, he doesn’t even like coffee, he’s always much preferred the sugary sweetness of slushies, and even tea, like his parents used to drink before a performance. 

He breathes a sigh, glancing up at the rising sun. Wally was going to be here in a few hours, to go over the last few preparations before they open up their cafe officially. 

Dick is well-aware that he opened the Cafe early, much sooner than most people would; but he didn’t do that course in business for nothing, and he had to use the money Bruce put away for him for something.

It’s compensation, or whatever Roy used to say whenever he told Dick about whatever overly expensive thing be made Oliver buy him. 

And besides, Dick figured that he barely sleeps anymore anyway, he might as well do something productive with his time. 

Dick was absolutely  _ terrified  _ to open this cafe. He knew what the crime rates were in Bludhaven, businesses didn’t tend to last long, not unless they had already been owned for multiple generations. 

The first three times someone shattered the windows of the cafe, Dick let it go, and just paid for new ones; the fourth time, he was a little bit ashamed to say that he lost it at the people he caught doing it, something he discovered during his Nightwing patrols. 

The almost  _ smug  _ feeling made him feel sick for hours after, the eyes that he can feel following him at every moment, grow more piercing. 

  
  
  


________

  
  


Dick was almost confident that opening day was going  _ semi-well,  _ well enough that it almost made it worth it to be leaving the comfort of his house at 6am.    
  
Not that he went to sleep in the first place, but the point stands. 

They had a fair few customers, mostly just wary young adults, and rebellious teens that Dick  _ thinks  _ seemed pretty satisfied with both the drinks they ordered, and the food. Dick allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction for people enjoying the baked goods; he’s never put that much effort into decorating something before. 

It paid off though, so he didn’t mind the extra time it took to stop his hands from shaking enough to actually pipe the icing. 

Damian ended up stopping by sometime after school, judging by the Gotham Academy uniform he kept fiddling with, bringing with him a quiet Cass, that he didn’t even know was back from Hong Kong yet; following behind him, the two of them having been dropped over by Alfred. 

He wasn’t sure where the rest of his siblings were, Tim was probably solving cases somewhere, or hanging out with Kon, Jason was off doing whatever it was that he did in his free time, and Steph was probably annoying Jason, the two of them having formed some weird friendship somewhere along the line. 

Dick grinned down at Damian and Cass when they showed up, dragging them into a one-armed hug, and ruffling Damian's hair just to see the familiar look of rage form on his face. 

He handed them both a pink and blue iced cupcake, one of the bubblegum frosting ones he had eventually decided to add to the menu. He waited anxiously for one of them to respond, within seconds Cass had given him a thumbs up swallowing down the rest of the cupcake, and Damian simply gave him a “ _ tt.”  _ before eating the rest of it. 

Dick would take that as a win. 

He allowed himself a moment to take a look at the siblings he had admittedly grown the closest to, despite knowing them for the least amount of time. 

Taking in the tired look that Damian seemed to have buried beneath indifference again, and Cass’s worried glances she kept shooting him. 

He really needed to take some time to try and work out what was up with Damian. 

It was no surprise that the three of them had grown the closest, they were the ones with the least amount of baggage resting on their relationship. 

With Damian having been his Robin, and apparently Dick being the only person to realise that Damian was still just a kid, a highly intelligent and trained kid, who was more than a bit homicidal; but a kid none the less. 

And Cass and him having bonded over individually been raised to be powerful, to be a  _ weapon.  _

( _ and didn’t that leave a sour taste in his mouth. He loved Bruce, but sometimes he wanted to hate the man for raising him how he did. He wouldn’t change it for the world, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have lived a different life.  _

_ He wondered what he could have become, if he wasn’t already so rooted in this life.)  _

So, it was no wonder that the three of them had grown close. 

Dick turned away from them for a moment at the sound of the ding of the door as somebody entered. 

“Hey! What can I get for you today?” He asked cheerfully, coming to stand behind the register. 

A tired-looking woman squinted at the menu, and Dick could honestly relate to the bone-deep exhaustion in her eyes. 

  
“Yeah hi, uh could I get a large Mint Mocha please.” Dick nodded as he began to ring her order up, relaying the order at Wally so he could start making the drinks. 

“Of course! That’ll be $4.80, thank you. Cash or Card?”    
  
“Cash please.” 

“Your drink will be ready in just a moment.” Dick responded as he finished putting her order through, watching her go to sit down quietly at one of the tables in their corner, before heading back over to Cass and Damian, trying to wheedle out any family drama he’s missed in the last couple of days from them. 

  
  
  
  


_ _____________ _

  
  


Dick allowed himself a moment to mourn the hair that he had washed last night, as he felt himself fall backwards into the mess behind him, feeling as it soaked into his hair, and into his suit. 

He pulled himself up after a brief second, aiming a sharp kick the other guy's way, before aiming a punch his way, watching as the man crumpled to the ground, before fishing a pair of handcuffs out of his utility belt. 

“Ugh. This is so gross.” Dick grumbled to himself as he stepped back from the guy, turning to wipe the watery-sludge out of his eyes, and squeezing it out of his hair.    
  
A criminal had ended up getting a lucky hit on him, knocking him off of his feet, and into the pile of half-frozen snow, that had a disgusting mix of blood, and oil on it for some absurd reason. 

He wasn’t exactly thinking of how it got there, when a man had just knocked him  _ into it.  _

He wrinkled his nose at the way he just  _ knew  _ that this was never going to wash out of his hair. Goddamn it. 

“Seriously dude? I am  _ so  _ not feeling the aster right now.” Dick snapped at the gagged criminal tied up on the floor, that he had already called the, horribly corrupt so the chances of him escaping were real, Bludhaven police department. 

He cast one last judgemental look at the criminal below him, before turning and continuing his patrol line, casting his grappling hook once he was out of sight. 

  
He had to finish patrol quickly, or else Roy, Wally, and Donna were going to have his head for being late to their movie night; despite that it was  _ at Dick’s  _ house. 

  
  
  


_ ___________ _

  
  
  
  


“-and so yeah, if they hadn’t been so horrible to him as a kid, he never would have become so evil. Nurture versus nature and all that shit.” Dick finished dramatically, smiling smugly at Wally and Donna’s amused faces, and at Roy’s exasperated one. 

“Dick, I think you’re overthinking this way too much. It is  _ not  _ this deep.” Roy groaned from where he was spread out sideways on one of Dick’s armchairs, his legs thrown haphazardly across one of the arms. 

“Shut up Roy, you know that I’m right.” Dick hissed in response, ducking his head slightly at the few pieces of popcorn that Roy threw at his head. 

“Dick does have a point, I mean... It wasn't like someone was just  _ born  _ bad.” Wally spoke up, and Dick swallowed slowly around the mouthful of sour straps. 

They had decided to hangout and put on shitty christmas movies after each of them finished their individual patrols, and collapsed in a heap of bruises, and cuts onto Dick’s couch. It was supposed to be a break, and with Lian being watched by Green Arrow and Black Canary, Roy was finally unable to stop putting off hanging out with them. 

It was nice, it made the growing ache inside of Dick’s chest ease for just a moment, it felt like they were back as teenagers, still trying desperately to escape their mentors' shadows, so consumed with their own need for independence. 

  
Dick had missed this, he loved his brothers to pieces, and he loved Bruce, but sometimes it was good to just be with people who almost understood what he was carefully trying to balance. All of them had lived through, and seen each other at their worst, seen more things than Dick’s siblings ever would. 

“I stand by the fact that I’m right, and the Grinch deserved better.” 

“Yo, did you guys hear what happened with Hal in the league chat?” Donna asked after they settled down again, relaxing into the calm, steady atmosphere between the four of them, each of them soaking in the moment of peace. 

Immediately each of them turned round suddenly to stare at her, movie forgotten in the background. 

“No? What’s happened this time?”    
  
“Hal accidentally sent nudes to their group chat, apparently Batman nearly murdered him straight up.” 

There’s three distinct sounds of choking following her words, before the sound of cackling follows. It’s exactly something Hal would do, and Dick can almost picture the exact face Bruce would have made upon seeing it. 

It’s not the first time that a JL member has accidentally sent nudes to the chat, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

“Poor Hal, 10$ says that he’s too afraid to make eye contact with Batman afterwards.” Wally gasps out after they’ve finished laughing. It really shouldn’t have been that funny, but considering it was three in the morning, and they were all tired, and sore, and old enough to feel the ache in their bones, so it could be excused. 

  
“That or he’ll gloat about it, and play it off. They’re both as likely as the other.” Dick shot back, as Roy nodded from on the other chair. 

Dick found it easy to slip into the easy laughter, and moment of happiness, allowed himself to forget the growing feeling that something was going to go wrong, to forget the mounting pressure on his chest. 

It was almost nice, just for a moment. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed! this chapter was weird to write, so if anything looks off, simply ignore it LMAO. 
> 
> Also I want 2 make it known that I’m not anti-Bruce, or anti-batfamily at all, but I’m trying to acknowledge that they all have a very complicated relationship that needs to be sorted out somehow (it’s coming, I swear). This chapter was mostly just a builder for the next couple of chapters, as well as starting the Damian fic I’m writing to go alongside this.
> 
> Anyway! My tumblr is @forestgreengirl ! feel free to send me a prompt/message !!

**Author's Note:**

> I’m literally never wrote DC before Please be nice, I’ve been thinking about this idea for Days and now,,, here it is. 
> 
> come chat on tumblr! (@forestgreengirl)
> 
> DC discord link: https://discord.gg/bRNHNYp


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